Liquid Courage
by greenconverses
Summary: Laura Cadman thinks something was slipped in her drink off-world because she should not be fantasizing about Rodney McKay. Ever. McKay/Cadman.


**Author's notes:** I wrote this almost a year ago and posted it on my LiveJournal, but never got around to it on here. There's still a sequel somewhere in my archives, but I doubt that I'll ever finish that. Anyway, enjoy your reading.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Stargate Atlantis_.

**Liquid Courage**

Laura Cadman thinks something must have been slipped in her drink off world, because she should _not_ be lying half naked on her bed with her legs spread, hand down her panties, and burning for Rodney _fucking_ McKay.

It's not _natural_ – well, the McKay bit anyway, because Laura's a Marine and just because she doesn't have a dick doesn't mean she doesn't get as just horny as the guys. Laura's right hand and index finger become her best friends after working all day with all that testosterone and muscle and sweat without being able to touch and be fucked. She's done it a hell of a lot more since she broke up with Carson, but she can't be _this_ desperate.

He's not her type, especially since that whole body-swapping incident, and he's _definitely_ not her usual fantasy boy. That spot had been recently reserved for Colonel Sheppard, thanks very much, because Laura loved the idea of her CO going down on her in the back of a puddlejumper and she was still slightly pissed that McKay had been one the one to boot him out. It should've been a fantasy involving Major Lorne and body paint instead.

A sharp, nearly painful throb from between her legs reminds her that, instead of fucking analyzing the situation nine ways to Sunday, she should just go with it and get off already. She's felt weird – tingly and hot – since her team and McKay returned hours ago and the weird feeling built up into the overwhelming arousal that led her to her current position.

Christ, she is never drinking anything of the ceremonial sort again.

She strips off her panties and throws them away before getting right back at it, fingers gliding effortlessly over her slick pussy and clit. Her left hand slips under her black shirt and cups a breast, imagining McKay's hand and remembering _precisely_ how it felt to slide those hands over skin, because even after a year or so everything about him is still burned in her memory. She knows he'd be rough with her, not like Carson, because she pisses him off so thoroughly and she _likes_ it rough.

She slips two fingers in and anchors her thumb on her clit, circling and teasing. McKay would tease her just because he hates her and he'd want to see her dissolve into a helpless pile of goo. He'd get her whimpering and moaning because his hands know exactly what do with anything that's put into him and his mouth – oh, _God_, his mouth would _finally_ be put to good use, sucking on her breasts and talking dirty because there's no way he could ever _shut up_, even in the middle of sex.

He'd lick his way down to her pussy and make her beg for it, and she fucking _remembers_ how that tongue felt in his mouth, and he'd lick her like she had the last pussy in the galaxy and his fingers would kneed her ass – and – _ah_…

Laura's hips buck off the bed and she lets out a high, breathy whine. She keeps thumbing her clit (because McKay wouldn't stop until his pride was satisfied) until she comes again and again and again, gripping the sheets and nearly sobbing because the need between her legs has only increased, and she wants more and _this_ isn't natural –

She barely hears her door chime over her ragged pants.

"B…Be there in a second!"

Laura scrambles, whimpering when her fingers slide free, dripping and slick. She's reaching for her BDUs, wiping her juices on the fabric and pulling them up over her hips as the chime rings again, almost frantic.

Her fingers slip and tremble on the buttons on her BDUs (if she doesn't get her fingers back down there again, she's going to go crazy) and she decides to fuck it and tugs her shirt down to cover her open fly because whoever's at her door isn't going to be around long, that's for sure.

"Coming!" she cries and – oh, how she wishes she was – launches herself at the door.

It slides open and Laura barely has time to register Rodney McKay's desperate expression and dark eyes, and think _shit, this must be happening to him too_ before he's kissing her with lots of tongue and force. The door's sliding shut again while he's backing her roughly into a wall, his hands fisting in her hair, dick digging into her stomach, and _this_ is exactly what her body wants.

"Fuck, Cadman," he says when he drags her shirt over her head and finds her bare. He says it again, around a mouthful of nipple, when he plunges his hand down the front of her BDUs and his fingers encounter her dripping pussy. He thrusts one thick finger in – and she's shuddering in his arms, pleading for more, and eventually they make it back to her bed where they fuck – rough, dirty, and the best sex Laura's had since college – until the need stops and they're both sated.

Laura's collapsed against McKay's slick chest, still straddling him, but she's too damn tired to move. Beneath her, McKay's spitting out longs strands of her hair and tiredly tugging her sheets up over them.

She's shivery, sweaty, and sticky; her room is going to smell like sex for a long time after this and she just knows she's going to be sore for days once she wakes up. Worst of all, she's pretty sure she's going to be fantasizing about McKay for the rest of her life.

Goddamn it.

"They…Those natives put something in our drinks," Laura murmurs, eyes drooping as she sags even more into his chest. "Didn't they?"

"Fucking Pegasus Galaxy," McKay replies.

Laura's just glad she doesn't require her fantasies to be good at pillow talk.


End file.
